Guest Blog: On Cock-Blocking Cats, and Other Examples of Coitus Interruptus

Please welcome the hilarious Lucy Woodhull to my blog!

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Hello there, I’m romantic comedy author Lucy Woodhull, and I’m here to promo my latest book, THE DIMPLE STRIKES BACK (sequel to THE DIMPLE OF DOOM), as well as to talk about humping and cheeseburgers. Hopefully there’s something in that last bit that piques your interest.

Here’s a blurb about the series:

The Samantha Lytton series by Lucy Woodhull

Obviously, the solution to a failed acting career and depressing dating desert is to take up with a dimpled art thief, get chased by thugs, lie to the police and almost die.

That’s not what Samantha Lytton thought would happen when she kissed the guy who said he was an accountant at the office Christmas party. But in her defense -- it was an amazing freaking kiss. The kind of lip-lock that frustrates you in the wee hours.

Turns out, thinking with your nether regions can lead to poor decisions. Or perhaps…fantastic ones. Samantha and her burglar travel from Los Angeles to Vegas to Paris to London on adventures that bring Samantha’s wildest dreams of stardom to fruition. After spending years falling on her face, she learns to fight for herself and her heart’s desire. You can’t choose who to love, but you can try to keep his cute butt out of jail and in your bed.

No matter where in the world you go, or how many hot movie stars you kiss (um, professionally), you never forget your first criminal. Hopefully, only criminal. Although bad boys with dangerous dimples are nothing but trouble, a relationship can still work as long as the goons don't get you. And if they do, well, at least an actress is good at improvisation.

* * *

When you think about “romance novel sex,” it usually involves hearts and flowers, rippling sinews and bosoms that, well, if they don’t heave, they at least vibrate. But me, well, I like exploring the weird moments that inevitably happen during the most passionate of sexual liaisons. Here’s a scene from The Dimple Strikes Back between my heroine, Samantha, and her dimpled art thief lover, Sam. Caution: dirty passages ahead!

* * *

He took off down a corridor with purpose. “It appears you know the way to the bedroom,” I said.

He grunted and threw me on the bed. Oh, how I’d missed man-grunts since I’d seen him last. Or smelled him. There may be no single scent on Earth I prefer more than the essence of his skin, of him. Not even cheeseburgers.

Everything stopped. He straddled me and balanced himself on his arms. “Did you just moan, ‘cheeseburgers’?”

I licked my lips. “I was thinking of you favorably by comparison.”

He cocked a brow, his eyes deepest pools of brown in the fading light of the room. “I take it as a compliment, if I scored above ground beef.”

* * *

I think the things that go “wrong” during sex can be so much fun -- they lead to laughter, which just makes everything more delightful. Well, some laughter during sex can be mean, but let’s not think about that...

Do you have a precious puppy, or perhaps an adorable cat? Yeah, if you’ve ever had pets, I know that those dirty fur balls have watched you get it on. They are straight-up perverts. And they can get very put out at not being the center of attention.

Here’s a little more Sam and Samantha, with a guest appearance by the cat, Captain Taco.

* * *

“These are very nice”—he leaned forward and slipped a finger into the bottom of my lace panties—“but I bet you’ll have more fun when they’re gone.”

“You first.”

The dimple liked that. Sam reached into his open fly and took out his cock. The male member is not exactly pretty, no, but it is invigorating just the same. My blood pounded through every inch of me, and I could not look away. He stroked the shaft nice and slow, performing for me.

Out of sheer, charitable gratitude, I slid my undies down my legs and threw them aside. A flurry of movement and chastising “mewr”s told me I’d just thrown my underwear on the cat. Sam stopped his sensual stroking to lean back and guffaw.

“Whoops.” I shrugged my shoulders and grinned.

“His therapist is going to have a field day with this.”

* * *

I have a cat, and let me tell you, that giant loaf of feline is a cockblocker of the first order. If you have any tales of coitus interruptus or funny things that happened, I’d love to hear about them in the comments. And hey, if you need a funny book or two to help get you through Christmas (and Uncle Wally’s obnoxious opinions about your life choices), here are some buy links to my Dimple series. You can pretend to read work emails on your phone, but really, you’re reading some nice, cheery smut. Not that I ever do that…

Thank you so much for reading, and I wish you every blessing for a wonderful holiday and new year!

Lucy -- Website Goodreads Twitter Blog Facebook

Book One: THE DIMPLE OF DOOM -- Available in print and digital from: Totally Bound, Amazon, AllRomance.com, B&N, Sony / Excerpt here.

Book Two: THE DIMPLE STRIKES BACK -- Available in digital (print coming March, 2014) from: Totally Bound, Amazon, AllRomance.com / Excerpt here.

Guest Post: Rosanna Leo and the Selkie

Please give a warm welcome to Rosanna Leo to the blog!

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I am so happy to be visiting with the lovely Melissa Blue today, and to be able to share the news of my newest book The Selkie. It is an erotic paranormal romance set in Orkney, Scotland. In that part of the world, there are legends about the mythical selkie folk, shape shifters who shift from seal to human form. They merely need to shed their seal pelt and they can live on land for a time. Selkies are legendary lovers. In fact, the myths say that if a human woman is unsatisfied with her love life, she need only cry 7 tears into the sea to call an immortal selkie man. He will love her as no human man can.  Tantalizing, don’tcha think?

In preparing this post, I was trying to recall why I wanted to write about a selkie in the first place. Certainly mythological creatures of all sorts have always attracted me…the males in particular. It could be the allure of the beach. Perhaps it’s the Scottish thing, but selkie men don’t tend to wear kilts. In fact they don’t wear much of anything.

That could be the reason right there.

No, I think one of the main reasons is my fascination with sea creatures. I’m not talking Nessie here. I’m talking about those fantastical beings who dwell beneath the depths, the ones whose very existence cannot be disproved. Ethereal mermaids who lure sailors to a watery demise. Sirens who call to hapless men from their craggy rocks. Selkie men, who are reputed to be unbelievable lovers whose good looks can devastate. What’s not to love?

Actually, now that I think about it, you can blame Aquaman. Was I the only little girl in the 70’s who lusted after this buff cartoon character? That shiny blond hair. Those hardened abs. His insane swimming ability. Think of the things we could do underwater!

Well, so there you have it. I suppose The Selkie is my homage to Aquaman, although not a direct reference in any way. Indeed, all my books have an origin in the interests of my childhood. Greek myths, vampires, firefighters. They all show up in my stories.

Should I be concerned that I also had a crush on Snap, Crackle and Pop? Menage literature…here I come!

*****

Blurb:

This was supposed to be her year. However, after losing her job and discovering her fiancé cheating, Maggie Collins has her doubts. When her grandmother dies, she hits rock bottom. Maggie travels to her grandmother’s home in Orkney, Scotland to sort through her gran’s things, only to discover the old woman has left her a seal pelt as her inheritance. She also learns that others are after the pelt.

To add to her frustration, Maggie’s dreams are filled with luscious images of a long-haired man, images that draw her to the magical beaches in Orkney. Although she’s lost her trust in men, this dream man inspires her with a lust she’s never known before.

Calan Kirk has also been dreaming. Dreaming of Maggie, the mortal woman who arouses him as no other woman ever has. Meeting her in the flesh when she arrives in Orkney is nothing short of spontaneous sexual combustion. But she is a human, and not to be trusted. He needs the seal pelt, not a red-haired temptress.

As a thief ransacks Maggie’s grandmother’s house, Maggie and Calan are thrust together. They must search for the animal skin, a mythical relic which once found, will either bring them together or rip them apart forever.

 *****

Excerpt:

She was attempting to stand on her wobbly legs, only to fall back down on her bottom, when she heard the sound of splashing water. Thinking it was her seal, Maggie turned to look.

Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the animal at all.

It was a man. He was rising out of the waves, walking toward her. She froze. He was nude, utterly nude, and was staring at her with overflowing intimacy. As if they’d had, God help her, relations.

And she realized, with sudden panic, they’d had! In her dreams. He was the seal-man from all her sex dreams.

No. Impossible.

Her first instinct was to call for help, but there was no one near. And then she realized with frightening awareness that she didn’t want any help anyway. Glued to her spot, she couldn’t help but drink him in.

He was beautiful, if unnervingly wet and naked. He had long, shiny, brown hair that hung down past his shoulders. His face could have belonged on an ad for expensive cologne, and he had a body to match. Sculpted shoulders gave way to arms corded in muscle. His defined chest was blanketed by a smattering of sparse, brown hair that led tantalizingly to his rock-hard abs.

Maggie held her breath as her gaze traveled lower on his body, taking in trim calves and thighs a quarterback would envy. And, she noted with simultaneous hunger and horror, his penis was the biggest she’d ever had the pleasure of seeing. It was thick and long and glistening with the droplets of water that yet cascaded over his body. And it seemed to be reaching for her. She gulped, and forced herself to look back up at his face.

There was a faint glow about his skin, a shimmery aura. Dismissing it as a trick of the moonlight, she shook her head.

He was almost upon her, and his full lips were taut in a teasing grin. Maybe he was a surfer who’d lost not only his board, but his shorts in the waves. She knew she should be frantic, but wasn’t. There was something in his brown eyes that was so familiar, so soothing, even as they swept over her own body with lustful appreciation.

He stopped in front of her, and stood boldly, unashamed of his glorious nakedness. She managed to spit out one hushed word. “You.”

“You,” was his equally awed reply.

 *****

Buy Links:

www.liquidsilverbooks.com/books/theselkie.htm